Parents Day Off

This morning, I awoke to the sound of whining; Turner's first day of Science Camp.  I listened, while covering my head with my pillow, to the back and forth of a futile conversation between a logical mother and a fearful son. After several minutes their circular "talkabout" swayed me to stumble from sweet slumber to begrudging wakefulness.

As Nicole's rock/quasi other kiddo, my parenting talents are easily applied to situations involving emotions. Let's face it...my inner child is really accessible.

As I clodded heavily across the upstairs hallway, I found Turner sitting in his bedroom, looking at a book and gently stroking his chest under his shirt (he always soothes himself in this manner).  His face looked pitiful.  I immediately dropped to the floor and engaged him peer to peer. "Wow!",I started.  "Today is SCIENCE Camp, right buddy?" He immediately started to whine.  I turned it up a notch and began to overwhelm him with a flurry of positive kid-type behavior and words designed to incite compliance, if not actual excitement.

His face began to morph from terror, to fear, to acceptance. Piggy-back style we bounced downstairs for a breakfast of Reese's Puffs and a hard boiled egg (we always chase sugar with protein).
30 minutes later we were unexpectedly greeted by a familiar face as we walked into the "Science of Summer." Without even a look back, my whiny son was off and ready to engage in squirmy, squishy, muddy hands-on science activities.

Let's not kid ourselves...time with our children is precious...time without our children is an absolute fantasy come true. Turner is the love of my life and loving drains my energy.  Contrary to popular belief, love is not a renewable resource...that is, unless I plug into something that feeds my battery...  enter Nicole, music, art, writing, and nature.

I hope Turner enjoys Science Camp today half as much as I enjoy Parents Day Off.

There is Light Underground

Femme or butch, most of us wore t-shirts and jeans.  Shoes were selected in accordance with the season.  In the summer we wore birks. In the winter, depending on the weather, we donned tennies or boots. I couldn't decide if I was femme or butch.  In those days, it felt like a decision was required.  I knew I liked pretty, wholesome girls *Blush.* I was attracted to femmes.  So, out of necessity (or so it seemed) I began to craft my yang (or was it my yin?).

 New to Indy, I befriended a woman whose friends were older, highly political, well-educated, and (unfortunately) anti-male.  At 20, having had several caring boyfriends, I secretly did not share their desire to disassociate from men.  Yet, I was unwilling to risk losing my connection to this underground community that had the potential to satisfy my powerful desire for love and sexual connection. We hung out in dark lesbian bars, located in treacherous parts of the city, getting drunk and dancing until we crashed. Occasionally, I would land a kiss that affirmed my attraction to women.

In the years that followed,  I loved and lost (or left).  Relationships were long and short, each left an imprint that sculpted my psyche and approach to love and union.  In the words of Chris Williamson, I was both "the changer and the changed."

Upon hearing last week that the Supreme Court of the US slayed DOMA, the image of Medusa, beheaded and staring blankly at the stars, came to mind. Looking into her eyes my body felt looser, more agile and free. There are now places in this country where all families are created equal.  Places where my partner and I might walk the streets hand-in-hand. Places where I may no longer have to listen as my son is asked the same question time and time again..."Why do you have two mommies?"